Cool
by Blueberry01120
Summary: This is a side-story set before my mega fic in the works, which takes place around characters going to SHIELD Academy: Loki Hates People. "He can't say that he was necessarily surprised. When you play with sharks, you might get bitten, but Clint played with sharks enough times to feel comfortable, and the first rule that Clint was taught was not to get comfortable under any circ


"I can go alone," Natasha said, but Clint followed anyway, knowing that she heard his footsteps not many feet behind her.

The distance between them was enough that Clint knew that Natasha is as worried as he is, and he doesn't deny the reason for the clamminess in his hands or the slight twitch he feels in his hand to move, but he stays propped against the wall, watching the people go by, completely ignorant to the storm brewing deep inside Clint's mind.

It's his problemótheir problem, and they'll deal with it if it comes to it.

He can't say that he was necessarily surprised. When you play with sharks, you might get bitten, but Clint played with sharks enough times to feel comfortable, and the first rule that Clint was taught was 'not' to get comfortable under any circumstances, to stay on his toes until those toes were broken and numb. With the stability of their lives, Clint slipped and so did Natasha. They both got bitten, and there is no one to blame but themselves.

He inhales the city air through his nose, smelling the sheer 'familiarity' of it and realizes that it was only inevitable for something like this to happen. They slipped, and now they're in trouble.

He pushes away from the wall at the sight of her slightly bowed head, her curls tucked behind her ears as she walks clench-fisted in his direction. He follows behind her for a few moments before seeing the discomfort in her shoulders, slipping to her side.

"Did you-"

"Yes," she replies, staring forward. Normally, she'd glance over at him even if she was angry, and it's because she used to be afraid that Clint would leave her even after all of the years that he tried reassuring her that he wouldn't. She knows 'now' that Clint won't leave her because Clint is the person that she knows him to be, and Clint's relieved that he doesn't have to prove to her that there's no where else for him to be anyway.

Natasha is the other half to his soulóas sappy as that soundsóand has been since that gray day when the girl with the red hair darted from shelter to shelter in search of protection from the rain. He doesn't remember what life is like without her feet away from him, within arms reach or a simple call away, and he doesn't 'want' to know either. His life is fine the way it isóor was.

There's an awkward pause after they get back into the apartment, and Clint finds himself speechless, unsure of what to say to her, and decides that's it's maybe best if he doesn't say anything.

She glances back at him, her sharp green eyes faltering, and she turns away, something slipping from the sleeve of her jacket. Clint is unsure of whether she even purchased it, but doesn't ask because he doesn't care. They have it, and that's what matters.

"I'll be out here," he says as he stands outside of the bathroom door. It's shut for once, and Clint touches the center, sighing deeply. It's wrongóeverything is so wrong with this situation. The only thing right is Natasha, and he's grateful for that. With anyone elseóhe doesn't even want to imagine that.

He slides down the wall and rests his forehead on his knees. Natasha, the girlóalmost a woman now, if he thinks about it, he's spent his life with and plans on spending the rest of with. She's been the only stable structure in his days of nomadic roaming and searching for what he didn't even know, holding his hand when they took walks through the park on sunny days in big cities that neither of them knew much about and dabbing at his forehead with a wet rag when his fever was dangerously high, and he saw the fear in her eyes.

They've been taking care of each other since that gray day, and Clint doesn't find himself resenting not getting the chance to do anything that he could have been doing, knowing that he was 'meant' to be with Natasha, his best and only friend as far as he knows.

They know everything about each other, real birthdays different from the false ones on their transcripts, favorite movies, heights and weights to the inch and pound even through each fluctuation, and to him, it's the farthest thing from abnormal. It's his life, what it was always meant to be, and he does not regret it one bit.

The door opens, and Natasha steps out of it, pausing for a moment to glance down at Clint. There are no words exchanged, just knowing looks and a nod on Clint's end, and she goes to the other wall, slipping down to sit mirroring him. They look eyes and silent looks pass between themó"are you okay?" "I'm scared too."óand he offers his best reassuring smile to her, and she smiles back, a small quirk of the lips, and it's not one of her real smiles, but Clint is satisfied nonetheless. This isn't exactly 'the time' for real smiles anyway.

"We should go down and get a Philly Cheese Steak, your favorite," Clint says, letting his legs stretch out so they surround Natasha's. She deserves this even if things don't turn out the way they want them, and he's going to give it to her.

"I'd like that."

Minutes pass, and it feels a lot like awaiting an inevitable nuclear explosion, and Clint remembers huddling Natasha close to his side when they were in the middle of something bigger than either of them. This feels a lot like that.

Natasha stands, and Clint takes a deep breath in for her. She probably doesn't need it, but he knows that it'll help. She picks up on the smallest cues, and breath is the easiest one for Clint right now without moving a finger against some surface.

"Barton," she says, giving him a curt nod.

"Romanova."

Her eyes soften at the name, and she steps through the doorway, Clint taking another deep breath, this time for himself.

He hasn't even imagined what he's going to do. The thoughts have been too muddled underneath all of the worry and fear.

There's a footstep near to Barton's side, and he turns and sees Natasha standing there, an expression of relief instead of the dreading panic on her face. With that expression, every worry and fear and everything else disappears from Clint's mind, and he stands, his bones creaking from the tension of his muscles.

They only stare at each other before anyone says anything.

Everything is completely fine, and there is no need for Clint Barton to even think about' that'.

"We're cool?" he asks unsteadily.

There's a brief moment of panic when the paranoid person inside Clint worries that maybe Natasha is schooling her expressions to make sure that Clint doesn't panic, which he almost finds himself silently doing when Natsha replies, "We're cool."

He's unsure of what he's even supposed to do and settles for an arm on her shoulder, which is slightly trembling from the andrenaline of everything being alright. He's not used to things getting so close to being not-alright and changing to alright in the next moment. His life hasn't been that lucky, and he can't say that Natasha's has either.

Well, he did somehow manage to meet Natasha, and that's definitely the highlight of his life.

"You just going to stand there, Barton, or are we going to go and get us a pair of cheese steaks?" Natasha asks, grinning that brilliant grin of hers that makes Clint roll his eyes and start to get paranoid that there are booby traps on the bedroom floor, and he's going to step on all of them in the darkness because even Clint Barton can't see in the dark.

"Of course, Romanoff. Why are you just standing there?"

She pushes him lightly, and her touch sends shocks all over his body as always.

Everything is fine, and Clint is damn fucking grateful for that and 'her'.


End file.
